


defenders of the field

by ailurea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Coran (Voltron) - Freeform, Female Hunk (Voltron), Female Keith (Voltron), Female Lance (Voltron), Female Shiro (Voltron), Football | Soccer, Women's Professional Soccer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea/pseuds/ailurea
Summary: In the span of five years, the Altea Women’s National Football Team has gone from a forgotten memory, to taking gold at the Galaxy Cup, to becoming literally undefeated champions—they haven’t lost an official game in the past two years. What changed? Most analysts agree: the hard-hitting members of the Voltron FC.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71





	defenders of the field

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leftishark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftishark/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DEAR SHARKI WHO IS A WONDER AND A HALF!! ♥♥♥  
> ((i'm sorry this is so late but i hope you can accept these soccer femsheiths as your birthday gift ;v;))  
> i'm so glad to have gotten to know you and to be able to call you my friend! here's to another amazing year of you ♥
> 
> \----
> 
>  **disclaimer:** so, my football/soccer knowledge is practically nonexistent. i did as much research as i could, and robin was super helpful in helping double-check my knowledge gaps, but all mistakes contained within are my own.

**Voltron: Defenders of the Field**

In the span of five years, the Altea Women’s National Football Team has gone from a forgotten memory, to taking gold at the Galaxy Cup, to becoming literally undefeated champions—they haven’t lost an official game in the past two years. What changed? Most analysts agree: the hard-hitting members of the Voltron FC.

by Linda Chen

* * *

**It's seven in the morning,** and there are already people on the field at Lions Stadium, home of the legendary Voltron FC. I wave at them as they pass by the door to the stadium. I get a nod and a wave back, but they continue their light jog around the stadium.

I go back inside for now.

Though the name only recently surged in popularity, Voltron FC has a history going back over a century, when its members took the spotlight in leading the National Altea Women’s Football Team to victory three years in a row before losing their league status and fading into obscurity.

The new Voltron FC refuses to let their name be forgotten.

Lions Stadium has been their home from the start, and has grown into a tribute to the Voltron FC, past and present.

I stop in the hallway to study the photos of the current club members. I find the two who were running on the field—Takashi Shirogane, defensive midfielder and current team captain; and Keith Kogane, offensive all-rounder. Shirogane’s smile is proud and confident. Kogane looks like she’s about to commit murder.

(Anyone who’s seen her play will agree it’s not an unusual expression for her.)

I settle down in the canteen and start jotting down notes as I wait for the rest of the players to arrive for their daily practice.

The first to enter is Princess Allura, starting goalie and vice-captain of the team. She greets me when she enters, already kitted up and with her long, silver hair tied up in a bun. She fixes herself a cup of tea before joining me at the table.

Allura is something of Voltron FC royalty, and not just because of her name—she carries on the legacy of both her mother and grandmother who were both captains of the club at one point. Allura, too, held the captain’s band before Shirogane took over.

“Honestly, I was relieved when Kórann decided to give Shiro the captaincy,” Allura says when the topic comes up in our conversation. “Leadership is a skill, you know? Something to develop and grow into, and some have the aptitude for parts of it more than others. I always felt that it was too much of an expectation of me, some kind of birthright that didn't make the role feel natural. Not like how Shiro approaches it at all.”

As the vice-captain, some of the captainly duties still fall on her shoulders. 

She smiles when I mention that. “Ah, well. That may not be for much longer.”

We start talking about her role on the field. She started her journey as a midfielder, same as Shirogane, but she soon found it overwhelming to attempt to keep a 360 view of the field while constantly being on the move. She felt much more at home in the goalie position, where she had a clear view of the full picture and enough time to take it all in and strategize.

And she definitely has been impressive in her role, with an 81% save percentage that ensures every team fighting against the Voltron FC is in for a challenge. Aside from her stellar saves, Allura’s also known as the Wormhole Queen for her astonishing 70 percent completion rate on long passes, which she did on average 6.4 times per 90 minutes last season.

“I've been playing since I was a child,” she says, “and the easiest thing to do as a child is kick. My mother would help me set up cones across the yard. It would be the most entertaining thing in the universe to knock them down. So when I’m on the field—it’s all just a matter of where.”

It’s getting closer to eight, and other members of the club trickle in as we speak, already kitted up. Allura waves over Katie “Pidge” Holt, starting defender who plays the role of sweeper in Voltron FC’s favored three-player backline.

“My last line of defense,” Allura says, slinging an arm around her waist.

Holt grins. “If anyone wants to get to Allura, they have to get through me, first.”

Holt, who stands an entire foot shorter than Allura, is small but mighty. Her ability to analyze the field and execute a defensive strategy is unmatched, with an impressive 3.2 progressive passes per 90 last season.

“It really helps to know that you can trust your team to be where you need them to be,” she says. “It’s the most frustrating feeling to come up with the perfect plan and realize there’s no way it’ll work, because there’s only so much yelling you can do in the moment, you know? So what we work on is making sure we really know what our tactics are, and how we should be positioning ourselves to keep the passes open where they need to be. Shiro’s especially good at keeping everyone on track, but Keith is the best playmaker.”

I ask her why that is.

“I mean, a couple reasons,” Holt says. “First of all, when she sprints, she sprints. Like, I’m pretty sure her speed is not human. And the second reason is that she just majorly kicks ass. Like, I think her success rate on duels is like seventy percent? Slide tackles too. Unless they tackled Shiro earlier in the game, then I’m pretty sure it goes up to like ninety.”

“That sounds about right,” Allura says thoughtfully.

Holt grins. “Let’s just say, I’m really glad she’s on my team.”

More players arrive, and the conversation shifts to more general football talk. There’s some chatter about upcoming matches, and a bit of gossip about players from other teams, before conversation shifts to the thing everyone else in the football world is talking about today: the Daibazaal Inquisitor article.

It was published last night, speculating on the injury Shirogane sustained in last year’s Galaxy Cup that ended her season—and, some are still fearing, her career.

The consensus among Voltron FC is that the speculation is overblown, and Shirogane’s fully capable of playing at one hundred percent, but when Shirogane and Kogane arrive, still pink from their early morning workout, all conversation falls silent.

Shirogane cheerfully greets everyone like nothing’s wrong. Kogane scowls at everyone, but she doesn’t say anything otherwise.

To try to start another conversation, I ask them if they usually run so early.

“I spend extra time with the physical therapist,” Shirogane explains easily. “It helps if I’m warm first. Keith just likes keeping me company, even though I’ve told her she doesn’t have to.”

The last part is said pointedly to Kogane, who pretends to ignore it. Shirogane seems used to that.

After breakfast, Shirogane leaves for her appointment, and I follow the rest of the players to the gym where they warm up. Most of the players are starting on the exercise bike. Kogane does some light jogging and high knees in place before going straight to stretching.

Their coach, Kórann Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, watches from the sidelines. I ask about her thoughts on the team and get a ten-minute monologue on how proud of them she is, and how much they’ve grown, and how far they’ve come.

“We are a very tight-knit family here at Voltron,” Smythe says. “Individual strengths are embraced and nurtured, of course, but when you’re on the field, you’re playing as one. That’s the core behind Voltron FC. And when things go wrong, we take care of our own… as I’m sure you’ve seen for yourself. Bit hard to miss with that one.” She nods to Kogane.

She’s referring to the fateful game one year ago, and the way the team rallied after Shirogane’s injury. Kogane got a yellow card for her verbal evisceration of Sendak, and it was clearly a team effort to keep her from going after the ref next and getting the red. But they did it—and got that third gold in a row, meeting the record of the Voltron FC of old.

Shirogane sat out the rest of the season, but since her return to the field, her teammates have been on guard—Kogane especially.

“Keith gets overprotective, but it’s not for nothing,” Shirogane explains when I catch up with her after her appointment. She’s stretching on her own now, freeing up the physical therapist to spend time with other members of the team, including Kogane. “With how bad it was, I’m lucky I can still play. Another injury like that, though… that’ll be the end.”

It looked like a pretty bad injury.

Shirogane grimaces. “It was a lot worse than it looked. My parents actually came and stayed for a bit because they were so worried about me. They actually still call Keith every day to check up on me.”

It seems strange that they wouldn’t call Shirogane directly.

“I mean, I get it,” Shirogane says. “They don’t want me to see them worrying so much still, or make me think they’re trying to pressure me into quitting or anything. But I know they wouldn’t do that. And Keith ends up handing me the phone most of the time anyway, so it all ends up the same.”

I ask if there are going to be any changes to the team’s overall strategy as a result of all this.

“Nothing I can describe in detail,” Shirogane says with a charming grin. “But Keith is really stepping up as a leader after becoming Allura’s vice last season, which I think is a great direction for her, and for the team.”

The change in leadership was necessary with Shirogane’s forced withdrawal from the season, but everyone’s been wondering how those roles might change, now that she’s back in action.

“I think it’s fine to tell you that Kórann’s actually thinking of putting Keith in as vice-captain this season,” Shirogane says. “But that’s just for the club. We don’t know what they’re going to decide for the national team.”

And what does Shirogane think?

She shrugs. “There’s lots of ways it could end up going. But honestly, I think she has a real shot at the captain’s band. Maybe not this year, but soon.”

I ask Shirogane if she’s worried that her injury will harm her chances of being selected for the national team this year.

“Just more biases to overcome,” Shirogane says with a rueful grin as she shrugs her right shoulder. “Nothing I’m not used to. ”

The bias she’s referring to is apparent to anyone who sees her—as a result of a birth defect, she was born without a right forearm. In the early days, there wasn’t a single article that would go by without mentioning _the one-armed soccer player_. Shirogane took that as a personal challenge to give them far more interesting things to talk about.

She’s definitely succeeded.

Now twenty-seven, Shirogane’s been a well-known name ever since she became the youngest player to take the captain’s badge of the national team five years ago.

“I know everyone’s worried,” Shirogane says. “The team, Keith, my parents… I’m just going to keep playing the way I’ve always played, and they can decide what they will,” Shirogane says.

It’s a very diplomatic answer, but I can see her confidence in herself and her abilities. That gives me confidence in her, too.

* * *

**It’s mid-morning now,** and players are wrapping up their morning routines and preparing to head out onto the field for daily practice.

Lance McClain is the first outside, bouncing on the toes of her feet as she pulls her hair back into a high ponytail. She greets me and asks about my impression of the team so far.

I tell her everyone’s been very kind, and very hard-working. She laughs when I mention that I’m not sure I’m going to get any one-on-one interview time with Kogane.

“Yeah, Red’s just like that,” McClain says. “I think she has the least quotes out of everyone, and like ninety percent of them are about Shiro.”

Red is the nickname Kogane had when she debuted in juniors, for the way that she never seemed to be able to finish a game without getting hit with the red card.

“It was the most annoying thing,” says McClain, who played in the Garrison Junior FC with Kogane. “There’d be, like, thirty minutes left, and we’d be saying you better not do it, Keith, you better hold it together, and then ten minutes later she’d be yelling at the ref and then we’d be yelling at her, _we told you not to fucking do it_!”

It’s hard to believe that Kogane was able to remain in the club for those offenses.

“Well…” McClain looks away when I mention that. “We all hated being down a player and Iverson would get super heated, but it’s not like we disagreed with her arguments, we just knew better than to argue with the ref about it. And, you know, she got better after working with Shiro. Plus she always kind of was the best player on the field.”

McClain is no slouch herself. As a winger for the team, she averaged 0.72 non-penalty goals and assists per 90 for the team in the last year, though it did take a while for her to find that niche—she had always wanted to cement her position as a striker.

“I really fell in love with this position, though,” McClain says. “Like, you know, scoring a goal is awesome and all, but what you learn playing with Voltron is that every goal is a team effort. So it’s an amazing feeling to line up the shot just right and— _pew_!” She kicks her foot out. “Right to Hunk for the goal!”

“Wait,” Shirogane says. She’s just stepped out onto the field, Kogane by her side. “I’m pretty sure we agreed it’s more like— _bam_!” She freezes in a dramatic kicking pose.

“Oh my god we are not doing this again,” Kogane mutters as she grabs Shirogane’s arm and drags her away.

Shirogane winks as she’s hauled off.

“What was I saying?” McClain says.

I ask about her rapport on the field with Hunk Garret, the last of Voltron FC’s six national team members. Garret is the club’s powerhouse striker, and her 30 goals in their last 36 games is not something to scoff at.

“Hunk is a total beast,” McClain agrees. “She was totally set on being a defender, and that’s what Kórann had her on at the start, but it was impossible to miss how much she kicks ass at the shooting drills. Like, if you set her up good, she’ll hit that goal in, hundred percent.”

It seems to me that staunch defender and striker are vastly different positions and mindsets. I wonder about how that change went over.

“Yeah, she wasn’t super keen on that,” McClain says, scratching her head. “Especially because we were in Juniors with Keith and they’d have her on forward and, uh, not sure if you’ve ever watched our Juniors matches but she was pretty damn terrifying.”

I have. She definitely was.

“And Hunk was just like, _oh shit do I have to be like that_?”

“Do I have to be like what?” Garret says, catching McClain’s last statement as she joins us on the field.

“Remember when Kórann had you switch to striker?”

“Oh, that,” Garret says, making an unhappy face and adjusting her orange sweatband. “Yeah, not gonna lie, that was a struggle. Were you talking about Keith?”

“I was talking about Keith.”

“I remember when Kórann asked me, I just pointed to Keith like, no way can I do that,” Garret says. “I’m like twice her size but I have half her rage. And then Kórann made me give it a try anyway. Luckily she had me shadowing Shiro who’s, like, aggressive but in a gentle way, you know? I probably would’ve given up otherwise.”

Shirogane’s been famous throughout her career primarily as a defender, which is visible in her stats—she has far more saves and assists than she does goals.

“Yeah, but she’s, like, a powerhouse,” Garret says. “You could put her in any position and she’ll crush it. She really knows what she’s doing out there. And she’s a good teacher.”

All this praise for Shirogane makes me wonder what the rest of the team thinks about Kogane’s rise in leadership, and Shirogane’s faith that the national team captaincy would soon be hers.

Garret and McClain exchange a look.

“Well, Keith’s kind of the same way,” McClain says. “Like, if you set her loose, she’ll do whatever she wants, don’t get me wrong. There’s a reason she’s a midcenter. But if you need her to focus on something, she’ll do it. And she’s good at seeing the stuff other people miss.”

What about teaching and mentorship?

McClain and Garret exchange another look, more amused this time.

“Well, since Shiro and Allura were both out, Keith actually ran the Junior camp this summer,” Garret says. “We were pretty sure it was going to be a disaster. Like, crying kids disaster.”

“Totally,” McClain says. “Like, she gets snappy at the people who show off like they know better—”

“Ahemlanceahem,” Garret coughs into her fist, and shrugs when McClain glares at her. “Sorry, babe. You know it’s true.”

McClain turns up her nose. “That was past Lance. I’m a changed woman, now. Anyway, not the point, we were talking about Keith.”

“Right,” Garret says. “Yeah, Keith is actually really great with the girls who are really there to learn, like really patient at explaining things and she’ll run the drills along with them and everything. Her first training camp was really important for her, you know? So I think really being there for less experienced players is her way of trying to pay that all forward.”

Is all that enough for her to take the title of national team captain?

“I guess that’s not really any of our decisions, in the end,” Garret says.

“But if that does happen,” McClain says, “you can bet we’ll be behind her every step of the way.”

* * *

**The team trains for two and a half hours** in the morning, six days a week.

Today’s training session isn’t anything too intense, though it will ramp up over the coming weeks. For now, it’s still early pre-season, a while before they’ll have any official games, and the players are getting back into their regular playing cycle.

Shirogane and Kogane lead the team through a series of warmups and then increasingly intense exercises, and though the team is working hard, they’re not taking themselves too seriously. I can hear their laughter from the bleachers.

Then Smythe comes out to join them, and the real training begins—some technical drills with the ball, shooting drills, partner exercises. Then they break into small groups and start running some tactics, stopping every so often to check in with Smythe.

Two hours in, after a short conversation with Smythe, Shirogane leaves the field. I follow her into the gym where she runs through her own cool-down exercises and stretches, and then invites me to join her in the jacuzzi.

I didn’t realize this would be an option, so I definitely didn’t bring a swimsuit, but Shirogane offers me one of the club suits and guides me to the jacuzzi.

“Some days it’s worse than others,” she tells me as she stretches her leg out, letting the jets massage her calf.

I scoot over to give her more room. Impressively-muscled and standing tall at a little over six feet, Shirogane is by no means a small woman, and the hot tub is not very large. It’s probably not meant for more than five or so players at a time at most—less, if Shirogane’s one of them.

“I’m doing a bit of a shorter practice for now,” Shirogane says. “Doctor’s advice. I don’t have a lot of time to recover, so I have to do what I can to take care of it now so that it won’t impact me during games later.”

Shirogane’s renowned for her tenacity on the field. For better or for worse, I can’t imagine that pain in her leg would be enough for her to stop during a game.

“No, you’re right, I’d probably push through a good amount,” Shirogane says. “Don’t tell Keith, though. Oh wait, I guess she’ll find out when you publish this.”

I offer to keep this part of our conversation out of the article, but Shirogane waves it off.

“It’s nothing she doesn’t know already anyway,” Shirogane says, then smiles lopsidedly. “Can you make a note for me, though? _Keith, if you’re reading this, stop worrying so much_.”

I promise to make sure that’s included in the article. The promise has been fulfilled.

“Anyway, it’s all a game of calculated risk,” Shirogane says. “Every time you go out there, it’s putting your body on the line. Everyone knows that. It’s just that I’ve already got a strike, so it’s a bit riskier than most.”

I wonder if that risk causes her teammates to treat her any differently on the field—namely Kogane.

“They were a little uncertain at first, especially everyone else who was on the field with me that day,” Shirogane says. “But I went two hundred percent our first day back and that changed their minds pretty quickly. As for Keith…” Shirogane runs her fingers through the top of her undercut. “I mean, I’m assuming you know about us, right?”

I know the basic facts of it as well as anyone does—that their story started when Shirogane helped recruit Kogane into the Garrison Junior FC—but I ask Shirogane to tell it.

“I saw her playing in high school,” Shirogane says. “Back then, she was—hm. Okay, just think of how she plays when she’s going on offense, and then turn it up to eleven. She was pure aggression, and she didn’t have a good team backing her up, but she was damn good. So I waited for her after the game and invited her to join my Junior coach’s summer training program.”

(Shirogane’s Juniors coach was Mitch Iverson, of the Garrison Junior FC.)

“I still remember her reaction,” Shirogane says. “She recognized me, but she still looked at me and said, ‘What’s the catch?’ like I was trying to scam her or something. It took a bit of convincing, but I got her to agree, and here we are.”

It doesn’t sound like the full story to me, but I’m not sure I’m going to be getting the full story out of Shirogane.

Luckily, there’s someone else who can give me some perspective on it—if I could manage to talk to her, that is.

It’s about noon now, which is just in time for lunch, and we hear some players coming back into the showers before heading to the canteen. I let Shirogane finish up, and hunt down Kogane instead for her side of the story.

Kogane seems antsy about being spoken with one-on-one, but she agrees to stand outside the canteen with me for a quick chat.

“I barely remember the game Shiro saw,” Kogane admits when I ask. “I do remember I got my yellows for diving and then arguing with the ref about it, though. Like I’d ever fucking dive.”

Today, Kogane is known for nearly getting yellow-carded for yelling at divers, and for doing all manner of things possible to avoid hitting the ground, including graceful leaps and acrobatics. If she does go down, she’s back up in a flash. I doubt she’s ever intentionally taken a dive.

“But yeah, I didn’t think she was serious at first,” Kogane says. “I mean, would you believe it if the captain of the national team came up to you and said she wanted you to join the team one day and she’d help you get there?”

I wouldn’t be able to lap the field before wanting to go lie down for a nap, so that would be pretty unbelievable.

“For me, just some girl playing for fun in high school, it was like a fairy tale,” Kogane says. “So, uh, I was probably kind of rude to her. Also, there was my family—you know my dad’s a firefighter and my mom’s a dancer.”

I think I’ve stumbled upon new information, actually. Kogane is exceedingly private about her life outside of the sport, and she’s mentioned her father before while doing a fundraiser for the Firefighters’ Association, but I don’t remember any mention of her mother.

“We didn’t really have the money to afford club football or training camps or anything,” Kogane goes on. “It was just something I liked, so I did it however I could. So for Shiro to offer… I couldn’t believe it. I mean, here I am on the other side of it, and I still can’t really believe someone would take a chance like that.”

A chance?

“Yeah, she told me it was a scholarship,” Kogane says, tugging at the end of her short ponytail, “but actually I found out later that she’d put her own money in for it. Iverson paid her back some after I helped win some matches for the club, but. Yeah. She definitely took a chance on me. My life would’ve been a whole lot different if it weren’t for her.”

Later, as I’m in the line for lunch, I tell Shirogane what Kogane told me, including the last part.

Shirogane softens and looks across the room at Kogane, who’s already taken a seat at the table. “I don’t know what my life would be like without her, either.”

That’s not exactly what Kogane said, but I don’t correct her.

* * *

**After everyone’s finished with lunch** and changed back into their casual clothes, there’s one last order of business.

“It’s the most important part of the day,” Smythe declares as she empties a bag full of envelopes onto the table.

As their final cooldown of the day, the players sit around the table, working through their fan mail and requests for signatures. Some are addressed to the team at large, in which case anyone can call dibs. Some are addressed to specific players.

It’s no surprise to see that the most popular members are the ones who’ve played in the national team. Of them, the most popular by far is Shirogane—and then Kogane.

“A travesty!” McClain says. “It should be Princess for sure.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Allura says fondly, and McClain blows her a kiss.

“Hey wait a second,” McClain says, dropping her kiss hand and frowning at Kogane. “That’s weird.”

Kogane frowns back. “What?”

“I haven’t seen you macking on Shiro all day.”

Kogane looks at me, then quickly looks back at McClain. “You’re the one who told me I needed to be professional.”

“I mean, yeah, but I just meant like don’t sit on her lap in the jacuzzi,” McClain says.

Using this new information, I revise my estimate of how many people can fit in the jacuzzi.

“Lance does have a point,” Garret says. “I mean, it’s not like it’s a secret.”

She’s right. It—meaning Shirogane and Kogane’s off-field relationship—stopped being a secret when cameras caught them kissing after last year’s Galaxy Cup game, and no one in the community seemed surprised by the news. In fact, the overwhelming reaction from other women footballers after the photos were released was, _can’t believe it took you all this long to notice_.

But even if it’s common knowledge at this point, on the field, the two keep an image of strict professionalism to ward off concerns that having them both on the same team would be risky in case of a domestic dispute.

(When I ask Smythe about it later, she waves that all off. “Balderdash! Anyone who’s seen them knows they’re stronger together than apart, and even if they do have their disagreements, they know how to handle it in a way that won’t affect the team. We’re all grown women here.”)

It sounds like the two have more freedom to be themselves in the Voltron FC, surrounded by the full, unwavering support of their teammates. I apologize for making things awkward.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kogane says. “Lance is the one who brought it up, anyway.”

“Besides, we’ll have plenty of time to make up for it at home,” Shirogane says with a wink.

Kogane pinches her side, but Shirogane just laughs and kisses her on the forehead. Kogane blushes and pushes her away, but I notice that afterward she—and the rest of the team—look much more at ease.

* * *

**With practice over** and a nice stack of fan letters addressed, the players start packing up and getting ready to leave for the day. We gather them in the main hall of the stadium for one last group photo. Everyone gathers close, with Shirogane and Kogane pushed into the middle. Shirogane has to bend her knees so she won’t block the teammates behind her, and Kogane helps by leaning on her back.

In a few short weeks, the first game of the season will begin. Before they leave, I ask the team if they have any messages for their opponents.

“Touch Shiro and I will end you,” Kogane says. She looks completely serious. “Don't fucking test me.”

“Cool it, Red!” McClain says.

She’s been calling Kogane that all day, but last I checked, she hadn’t gotten any red cards since she left Juniors. I wonder if it’s just stuck with McClain from their younger days.

“I mean, partially?” McClain says. “But now it’s also ‘cause she keeps playing while bleeding out all over the damn field.”

“Not _all over_ ,” Holt says. “That’s what the gauze is for. Check it.”

She shows me a short clip on her phone of Kogane tearing down the field with red-stained gauze in her mouth. And then another one.

And she complains about Shirogane being reckless.

“I know, right?” Shirogane says.

Kogane rolls her eyes and hip-checks her.

Allura has a much more diplomatic message for me.

“There are many reasons the other clubs might not be taking us as seriously this upcoming season,” she says. “Shiro’s injury, of course, is a key one. But there are also accusations that we’ll become complacent, now that we’ve achieved our third gold. All of them are wrong. Shiro has worked hard to get where she is, as have we all. And as hard as we work in pursuit of the title, we also work to be the best that we can be, as individuals and as a team. Have no doubt that we will never give in. Come season end, we will defend our title to the last.”

“Hear, hear!” McClain yells, and the roar of the players fill the entrance to Lions Stadium.

The players say goodbye as they grab their things and start trickling out the door. Shirogane doesn’t have a bag, but she leaves holding hands with Kogane, who has an oversized black and red gym bag slung over her shoulder.

As they leave, I reflect that, from what I’ve seen today, Voltron FC’s secret to success isn’t really such a secret at all.

They’re not eating anything special. They’re not pulling wildly long training days. They’re not developing novel tactics or techniques. They’re just raising each other up and supporting each other to the best of their abilities, both on the field and off.

At Voltron FC’s core is the simplest tenet of all:

To succeed at a team sport, the most important thing to understand is what it means to be a team.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to [allie](https://ao3.org/users/artenon) for beta reading and [robin](https://ao3.org/users/stardropdream) for soccer betaing!
> 
> and thank you so much for reading! ♥  
> i love, appreciate, and reply to all comments, even if it takes me a little while to get to them :)
> 
> catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ailurea)!


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